


sew the story goes

by the human eyes emoji (nicole_writes)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, In which Ingrid wears a nice dress and Sylvain can't handle it, Possessive Sylvain Jose Gautier, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), The Dress Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:07:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26922595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/pseuds/the%20human%20eyes%20emoji
Summary: “Sylvain,” she mumbles into the kiss, “don’t we have to get ready?”“Not until noon,” he says back and then he loops one hand around the back of her head, deepening the kiss.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 11
Kudos: 63





	sew the story goes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scorpio_szn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpio_szn/gifts).



> sunni: sends me [THIS](http://www.harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=176) comic and then pokes at me until I write it. 
> 
> featuring sylvain, an actual bodice ripper, gautier
> 
> get some water~

As she wakes up, Ingrid notices that the air is cold. She groans and burrows under her blanket, huddling up against the warm object next to her. Something tightens around her and Ingrid hums, curling up tighter against the body lying next to her in bed. She feels her hair rustle and then fingertips graze along her scalp and she hums into the touch, tilting her head up and slowly blinking open her eyes. 

Sylvain presses a light kiss to her lips before she’s even fully awake. He’s dreadfully warm next to her under her covers, arms loops around her waist and his fingertips grazing over the bare skin of her hips, back, and shoulders. 

“G’morning,” he murmurs, his voice still drowsy and heavy. 

Ingrid stifles a yawn and Sylvain’s hand slides down her back, dangerously close to her rear. She sighs and reaches back, grabbing his wrist and sliding it up her back to less dangerous territory. Sylvain chuckles, his chest vibrating with the action, and then he leans towards her, kissing her again. 

Ingrid shifts, leaning into the kiss and Sylvain’s hands wander again, grabbing for her legs as he pulls her on top of him. She huffs at the action, leaning down over him as he holds her hips, gently rocking his own up towards her. 

“Sylvain,” she mumbles into the kiss, “don’t we have to get ready?”

“Not until noon,” he says back and then he loops one hand around the back of her head, deepening the kiss. 

“Noon,” she murmurs as he parts her lips, pushing against her. 

Suddenly, the sunlight peeking through her drapes connects in her mind and everything slows down as she hears a short tap at her door. She tears back from the kiss and shoves Sylvain down, pushing him under her covers, and yanks the blanket up to cover her chest right as the door swings open. 

“Ingrid,” Mercedes sings as she strides into the room, “you were supposed to meet Annette and I a while ago!”

Mercedes pauses as she takes in Ingrid, dishevelled and clutching her blankets to her chest. Ingrid sees the amused smile curl up on her friend’s face and she flushes heavily. 

“I slept in,” she blurts. 

Mercedes nods, obviously not buying a word that she says. Mercedes looks around the room for a second and giggles. “I know Sylvain is here, Ingrid.”

Ingrid’s eyes widen with alarm. “What?”

Mercedes points to the vanity of the room where Sylvain’s rumpled shirt is draped. “I mean, there’s this, but also the fact that he retired from dinner very shortly after you did last night.”

Ingrid sighs and Sylvain pops his head out from under the blanket gasping exaggeratedly. Ingrid pointedly doesn’t look at her very naked bedmate, keeping the blankets clutched around herself as she frowns. 

“Did anyone else notice?”

One of Sylvain’s hands that is still under the blanket slides up the inside of her leg and Ingrid squeezes her thighs together, trapping his hand before he can reach the top of her thighs. She glares at Sylvain and he just blinks innocently at her, not moving his hand.

“Only those that were looking,” Mercedes assures. “So you’ll be fine.” She puts a hand on her hip and raises an eyebrow at Sylvain. “You should probably scram, Sylvain. Don’t want any of Ingrid’s brothers to pop over for a visit unexpectedly, do you?”

Ingrid watches the blood drain out of Sylvain’s face and she bites her lip to resist the urge to laugh at him. “Can you give us a minute, Mercedes?”

Mercedes nods and spins, waving over her shoulder as she disappears into the hall. As soon as she’s gone, Sylvain flops back against the pillows, groaning. Ingrid turns towards him, leaning over him with a light, affectionate smile. 

“You should go,” she reminds. 

Sylvain groans. “Don’t want to.”

“Sylvain, there is a very real chance that someone will come back. Especially because we definitely slept in too long. I need to get ready with Mercedes and Annette.”

He huffs. “Fine.” He sits up and pulls her into a long, unexpected kiss. Ingrid leans into it, her eyes fluttering shut as he works his lips slowly against hers. He pulls away after a long moment and she almost whines. 

Sylvain slides out of the bed and Ingrid shifts, sitting back against the headboard as she watches him roam around her room, collecting his clothes. He dresses slowly, without an ounce of shame, and then comes back to sit on the edge of her bed. He leans towards her and Ingrid gives him one more kiss before she pushes him away by the shoulder, shooing him out of the room. 

He pauses at the door. “Still no hints?” He looks towards the partition in the room which she has forcibly kept him away from since they had arrived in Fhirdiad. 

“No, now get out!” 

She does manage to get him to leave then and then Ingrid climbs out of bed, hastily grabbing a robe and tying it around herself. She is in the process of collecting her own scattered clothes when the door opens and Mercedes comes back inside, smiling. Ingrid pointedly looks away from her friend as she shoves her clothes into one of the drawers on the dresser. 

“Please don’t say anything, Mercedes,” Ingrid requests, feeling her cheeks flush with colour. She looks back at Mercedes who just smiles and draws an X over her heart. 

“Won’t even tell Annette,” Mercedes promises. “But, if I can ask, why are you waiting?”

Ingrid blinks, her face getting even redder. “Um,” her voice pitches up. 

Mercedes’s mouth forms a small ‘o’ and she giggles. “Not that kind of waiting. I meant, why haven’t you two tied the knot officially?”

Ingrid bites her lip. “It’s a tricky situation. My father wants the wedding to happen, but Margrave Gautier is waiting for the right political moment to even announce the engagement. If it was up to us, we would have been married by Seteth or Flayn at the Monastery before the war was even over,” she confesses. 

Mercedes nods. “Right. I try to forget all the politics that you have to deal with in noble marriages.”

Mercedes and Dedue had been married in a small, intimate ceremony just two months after the end of the war, but many of the other Blue Lions were not as fortunate. Annette and Felix are tangled up in the same kind of political mess that Sylvain and Ingrid are, but not quite as serious since Felix is already head of his house. 

“Anyway,” Mercedes continues, “We should go find Annette! We have a few hours to pamper before we have to get dressed.”

Ingrid laughs and looks down at the robe she has wrapped around herself. “Am I alright in this?”

Mercedes giggles. “Maybe not.”

* * *

Hours later, one of the lady’s maids in the palace does up the laces of Ingrid’s corset. She huffs out a breath as the bodice tightens. A second maid brings over the dress and Ingrid is assisted as she steps into the pool of fine, light green fabric. The dress is pulled up over her hips and she slips her arms through the delicate straps of the dress. 

It sits with one strap atop her shoulders and a decorative second one wrapped around the top of her biceps. The dress dips down almost low enough to be scandalous and the presence of her corset definitely doesn’t discourage straying eyes. The maid starts doing up the laces and small buttons up the back of the dress and Ingrid flattens her palms over the front of it, admiring the way that the gold undertones shimmer in the green fabric. 

She had originally been planning on having one of her older dresses tailored for the occasion, but Sylvain had insisted on paying for a new gown for her to celebrate the one-year anniversary of the war’s end. The affair in Fhirdiad is certainly glitzy enough to warrant expensive formalwear and as much as Ingrid despises expensive clothes, the dress that Annette had picked out is gorgeous. 

It is shimmery and green and there are a few fabric roses along the decorative straps and Ingrid feels _pretty_. Mercedes has done her hair, a few twisting delicate braids with a matching ribbon to the dress, and Annette has done her makeup. She feels more like a girl than she has since the White Heron Cup and the ball when they had been back at the Academy. 

Once the dress is secured, the maids step back, leaving Ingrid standing in front of the mirror, smiling faintly at her expression. 

“You look stunning, Lady Galatea,” one of them chimes in. 

Ingrid laughs nervously. “Thank you.”

There’s a knock at the door and Ingrid turns, almost tripping on the hem of the dress as one of the maids goes over to the door to answer it. The maid keeps the door mostly closed and turns to look at Ingrid. 

“Lord Gautier for you, Lady Galatea.”

Ingrid presses her lips together. “Tell Lord Gautier that I will see him in an hour at the ball.”

She can imagine the indignation on his face as the maid relays her message and then closes the door on him, blocking him out. The maid giggles to herself as she turns back to Ingrid. 

“He looked rather disappointed, my lady.”

Ingrid smiles fondly. “He’s like that.”

“Well,” the other maid says, tugging suddenly on the laces at Ingrid’s back. She jumps. “Then we should make you look as appetizing as possible, shouldn’t we?”

Ingrid flushes. “Um.”

“Don’t worry, Lady Galatea. We won’t say a word to anyone.”

She bites her lip. “Oh.”

“Here, my lady,” the first maid says, holding out a pair of gold, jewelled shoes. 

Ingrid curls her hands in the fabric of her skirts and lifts them up so that she can step into the heels. They’re only a little higher than the boots she wears when riding and surprisingly comfortable for her toes. Most dress shoes are horribly uncomfortable. Ingrid blinks down at the shoes, watching them peep out from under the hem of the dress. 

“Where did these come from?”

“Miss Martritz dropped them off earlier,” the maid answers. 

Ingrid shakes her head fondly. Mercedes does think of everything.

* * *

Despite Sylvain’s attempts to visit her earlier, he’s absent when Ingrid arrives in the ballroom. Annette has her arm linked through Ingrid’s, wearing a pretty, bright blue dress. Annette scans the crowd. Dedue had swept Mercedes away for a dance and Annette and Ingrid are lingering by one of the refreshments tables. 

“Where are they?” Annette mumbles, trying to rise onto her tiptoes to look around the room. 

Despite her heels, Annette is still tiny, so Ingrid does the same, scanning the ballroom for any familiar faces. She sees Ashe talking to Marianne on the right side of the ballroom and Mercedes and Dedue are dancing in the centre of the room. 

Even Dimitri is already here, dressed in the finery of a King as he talks with Byleth and someone Ingrid doesn’t recognize. She frowns, studying the figure dressed in golds and purples. She manages to spot Felix a second later, talking with an eager Flayn in the far corner of the ballroom. Ingrid looks back at the figure she doesn’t recognize and presses her lips together. 

“Annette,” she says, “Felix is over there.” She nods in the direction that she has seen Felix and the redhead brightens. 

She drops Ingrid’s arm but then hesitates. “Um, I haven’t seen Sylvain. Are you alright?”

Ingrid nods. “I’m going to go speak with Byleth and Dimitri. It’s fine, Annette.” 

Annette brightens and immediately darts off towards Felix, almost tripping over the long hem of her dress. Ingrid smiles faintly and then starts pushing through the crowd towards Dimitri. She gathers up her skirts and dodges around ballroom guests until Dimitri spots her, a smile splitting across his face. 

“Ingrid!” he calls out, abruptly dropping whatever reply he had been giving to the stranger. 

Byleth and the stranger turn towards her and Ingrid stares in surprise at Claude von Riegan who is dressed in what she now recognizes as Almyran finery fit for a king. His lips curl into an amused smile when he recognizes her. 

“Claude?” she blurts before she can stop herself. 

Claude steps forward, picking up her hand and dropping a kiss onto the back of it, flashing her a quick wink. “Lady Galatea, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Ingrid frowns. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you leave?”

It’s then that she notices the woven gold crown nestled in his messy, dark hair and her eyes widen. 

“This is more of a diplomatic visit than a personal one. It would be poor form for the king of a neighbouring country not to wish you well on your unification anniversary,” Claude replies smoothly. He glances at Dimitri and Byleth. “I don’t suppose either of you would mind if I stole Lady Galatea for a dance, would you?”

Ingrid doesn’t really get a say in the matter as Dimitri and Byleth both shake their heads and then Claude is tugging her by her elbow onto the dance floor. He adjusts his grip on her hand and lets his other hand fall to her waist. Ingrid’s hand moves to his shoulder instinctually as he guides her into a smooth dance. 

“What are you doing, Claude?” she asks as she lets him lead through the steps. Surprising her, he’s not a bad dancer. She can still remember back at the ball when he had been one of the only nobles who didn’t know a thing about dancing. He has certainly improved.

“Dancing with an old friend,” he says, grinning. 

Ingrid rolls her eyes and almost steps on his foot. “Seriously.”

“Seriously,” he parrots. “I’m actually just here to have a good time. It’s nice to see all of you again.”

“How come you never told anyone you were Almyran?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t seem important.” He leans in a bit. “Between you and me, my advisors think I’m here to steal away one of Fódlan’s more notable noble ladies for a wife.”

Ingrid blinks. “Oh.”

Claude chuckles. “Don’t worry, Ingrid, I know you’re spoken for.”

“What?”

“Sylvain has been staring at us like he’s going to rip my arms off since he walked in.”

Claude leads her into a turn and she catches sight of Sylvain. He’s wearing a fitted black jacket with gold piping. He has grey trousers and polished shoes on. He looks incredibly attractive and the way that he’s looking at her and Claude is enough to make her blush. Claude turns her away from Sylvain, cutting off their eye contact as he chuckles. 

“If I’m not mistaken, you haven’t announced anything, have you?”

“No,” Ingrid agrees. “The situation is a bit complicated as it stands.”

“Mm,” Claude agrees, guiding her in a slow circle. 

Sylvain is gone from the place where she had seen him when she is able to look for him again and her eyebrows rise. Claude’s lips twitch into a wider smile. 

“You look stunning, Ingrid. Sylvain is a lucky man.” 

The music of the song fades out and Claude drops his hand from her waist, lifting his other hand to kiss her hand. He steps back into the crowd, catching Flayn’s hand almost without looking as he sweeps his new partner into a dance. Ingrid stands there for a moment, feeling baffled and smiling fondly after Claude. 

A man cuts in front of her, wearing a gaudy orange jacket with a sleazy smile on his face. “Lady Galatea,” he begins. 

“Sorry,” Sylvain cuts in, stepping out of the crowd, his eyes burning brands into the man. “Her next dance is spoken for.”

Ingrid smiles at Sylvain and steps closer to him. He takes both of her hands and swings her into a dance. He pulls her a bit closer than is strictly necessary, but Sylvain is a flawless dancer. She lets him lead blindly and it feels like she’s floating as he spins her on the dance floor. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” he mumbles lowly into her ear as they step closer to each other to the tune of the music. 

“What?” Ingrid asks, blinking. 

“First thing I see when I walk in here is you out there dancing with Claude von Riegan. And you’re wearing _this thing_ ,” he practically growls.

Ingrid feels his fingers dig into her side through the fabric of her dress and she feels a bit smug. She leans closer to him, pinching her elbows down to accentuate the tasteful, but still almost scandalous cleavage that she’s displaying. 

“Do you like the dress?” she says, playing innocent. 

“Ingrid,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting along the side of her face. “I am going to _ravish_ you.” 

His words send a jolt of electricity down her spine and she stumbles on the next step of the dance, but Sylvain catches her effortlessly. The darkness in his eyes is heady and absolutely destructive for her mental capacity as she finds herself absolutely floundering as Sylvain continues to lead her around the dancefloor. 

“Sylvain,” she breathes. “You can’t just-”

“I disagree,” he says. “Rather, I think you’re lucky we have a social obligation to be seen here because otherwise, I would have carried you away already.”

Ingrid is quite sure that she’s blushing now, but Sylvain’s hands are large and warm and he’s holding her tightly and closely enough that she has absolutely nowhere to go. He leads her through the dance until the music drums to a stop and there’s a shrill tapping noise of metal on glass and all the eyes in the room turn towards the front where Dimitri is standing. 

Sylvain drops her hand and shifts to stand next to her, but his arm loops around her waist. Dimitri begins speaking, thanking all the guests for coming to celebrate with them, but Sylvain’s fingers cup over her hip, pressing through the fabric and Ingrid swears that he is burning her. This is the kind of reaction she had been hoping to invoke in Sylvain, but she hadn’t expected him to turn it around on her so easily. 

She wants to kiss him and run her hands through his perfectly styled hair, but they’re still in the middle of the dance floor while their friend, their _king_ , gives a speech. Ingrid tries to listen to Dimitri’s speech, but Sylvain’s fingertips rub in slow circles that turn everything in her brain to mush as she can only focus on the way that he’s touching her and how her body is buzzing for him to _keep touching her_. 

As soon as Dimitri has finished talking, Ingrid grabs Sylvain’s hand, detaching it from her waist, and pulls him towards one of the balconies. He rotates his wrist until he’s holding her hand and picks up the pace of his gait, ushering her out onto the balcony. 

Ingrid drops his hand once they’re outside and pulls the balcony doors shut behind them. Sylvain scans up and down the edge of the building, looking along the other balconies. There’s a couple chatting on the balcony a few doors down and Ingrid opens her mouth to say something, but Sylvain doesn’t even give her a chance. 

He grabs her by the hips and pins her to the stone wall of the palace and kisses her furiously. Shaded by the alcove, they are just hidden from the view of anyone on any of the other balconies. Ingrid melts into the kiss, lifting her hands to grab at his face. 

To her surprise, Sylvain drops her hips and grabs both of her wrists, pinning them back against the stone as he breaks his lips from hers and kisses up her jaw to her ear. Ingrid’s mouth falls open as Sylvain bites lightly over her earring, tugging on her earlobe. His lips trail down her neck in a mirror to his actions the night before and she bites the inside of her cheek to hold back a gasp. 

Sylvain kisses down until he reaches the crook of her neck and shoulder where her dress strap lies. He slides the strap to the side and sucks hard at her skin. Ingrid jerks against him, a small whimper slipping out of her, but Sylvain doesn’t move back. He sucks, grazing with teeth and then soothing with his tongue and lips as Ingrid struggles against him. 

“Sylvain,” she gasps, “you can’t leave a mark.”

Against the skin of her shoulder, he hums and laughs. “I disagree.”

He pulls back then, admiring the red patch of skin he has left on the top of her shoulder. It will bloom into a bruise shortly and Ingrid flushes as she cranes her neck to look at it. Sylvain fingers the loose strap of her dress before he slides it back into place, settling it right over top of the mark he had made. 

He has managed to position it so that if Ingrid is careful, she can keep the strap of her dress directly over it to keep it concealed, but if the strap slips even a little bit, his possessive mark will be exposed to everyone. Sylvain loosens his grip on her wrists and kisses her lips again. Ingrid barely has a chance to kiss him back before he’s pulling away, stepping back and leaving her leaning breathlessly against the wall. 

“Sylvain,” she murmurs. 

He smirks. “It would be rude for us to disappear so quickly after Dimitri’s speech. We should probably wait until half-past.”

She pushes off the wall, her mouth falling open with indignation as he brushes past her, heading back into the ballroom. Ingrid catches the back of his jacket before he can fully escape from her and she glares at him. 

“Sylvain.”

“Half-past,” he shoots back. “Eastern stairs.”

* * *

Ingrid spends the next half an hour socializing with as many people as she recognizes and turning down dances with people she doesn’t. She keeps one eye out for Sylvain so that he can’t sneak up on her, but, much to her frustration, he seems to be revolving through the room at the same pace as she is so that they’re never in the same place at the same time. He also seems to be avoiding looking at her. 

Mercedes hands her a glass of champagne as they stand on the edge of the dancefloor. “I think you might have broken Sylvain, Ingrid.”

Ingrid almost chokes on the wine. “What?”

Mercedes giggles. “He keeps looking over here when you’re not looking like he’s thinking of ripping your dress off.”

This time she does choke, coughing violently. Mercedes’s blue eyes widen worriedly as she pats Ingrid on the shoulder. Ingrid flushes as her coughs subside and she self-consciously adjusts the strap of her dress to hide the mark on her shoulder. 

“I think you must be mistaken, Mercedes,” Ingrid says, trying to keep her voice even. 

Mercedes hums knowingly. “You know, I think you two have done your social duties if you did want to disappear. I would be willing to run interference for you and I’m sure I could convince Felix to do the same.”

Ingrid blushes, but she does look around the room, searching for Sylvain. He’s standing at the door that leads to the eastern stairs and his eyes catch hers as she spots him. He slowly turns and slips out the door, the invitation in his retreat crystal clear. Ingrid opens her mouth to excuse herself to Mercedes, but Mercedes just winks and pushes her towards where Sylvain disappeared to. 

Ingrid, not needing another reason to get out of the stifling ballroom, gathers her skirts and slips through the crowds to the eastern door. She pushes through the door and Sylvain immediately bounces off the wall where he had been leaning to walk back towards her. He stops just in front of her and Ingrid’s heart flips. 

“What are the odds that your brothers go looking for you in the morning?” he asks. 

Ingrid blinks. “Low.” 

“Good. No one will notice your room is empty then. Mine is closer.”

Ingrid doesn’t wait for further explanation as she starts up the stairs towards the guest quarters. Sylvain’s room is indeed closer to the eastern side of the palace. Dimitri had tried to put up all of the Blue Lions in rooms relatively close to one another, but precedent had required him to place Sylvain and Felix, whose families held the highest prestige in the eastern wing of the palace: the place with the highest-end rooms. 

Her shoes are deafening as they click over the floor as she climbs the stairs, her hand curled around the railing. She doesn’t look back at Sylvain as she hurries up the stairs, but she can hear his shoes on the stone floors as he follows after her. Ingrid doesn’t even reach the top of the stairs before she breaks into a run, hiking her skirts up. 

She makes it halfway to his room before he finally catches up and he basically shoves her into the wall as he crowds her back, turning her face to his and kissing her furiously. His hands glide up and down her sides, dipping out to stroke the curve of her chest with a warm palm. Ingrid arches into him, running one hand up into his hair, mussing the tamed red locks into something more like how he had been this morning when they had woken up. 

Sylvain smirks into the kiss as he grabs more firmly at her chest and Ingrid whines into the kiss, pushing against him. She drops his hair and pushes both hands against the flat of his chest, flipping him back against the wall as she crowds after him. Sylvain grunts as his back thuds against the wall, but he just pulls her closer by her hips, kissing her harder. 

There’s a creak of a door nearby and Ingrid jumps, shoving away from Sylvain and smoothing out her dress. Down the hallway, barely illuminated by a candle, a maid stands outside one of the rooms but facing the opposite direction. Sylvain catches sight of the woman too and he laughs silently. He links their hands together and tugs her quickly along to his room. They slip into his room before the maid turns around. 

Once inside the room, Sylvain pulls on her hand, lifting it up and twirling her in a slow motion. Ingrid laughs and spins with him, curling into his chest. He catches her there and his hands bunch in the material of her dress over her hips. 

“Which seamstress did you get this dress from?” Sylvain asks, his voice husky. 

“I have no idea,” she confesses. “Annette picked it out.”

“Well, it seems like I’m going to have to have Annette choose your dresses for every occasion,” he rumbles, kissing the corner of her lips. 

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “Really?”

He leans back, raising an eyebrow. “Do you have any idea how much I want to rip this dress off of you?”

The seriousness of his tone when he says it causes heat to pool in her stomach and her lips part in surprise. “Oh,” she mumbles. 

He steps closer to her, dropping his head to kiss the top of her shoulder, right over the strap that’s concealing his mark from earlier. Ingrid shivers at the lightness of his touch and Sylvain trails his fingers up her arm as he does so. 

“These are not sleeves,” Sylvain mumbles into her skin as he brushes past the decorative sleeves. 

When his hand reaches her shoulder it slides back along the bare skin of her upper back and then down to the part where the buttons on her dress start. Ingrid is practically pressed into his space as he reaches around her to thumb at the buttons. In response, she reaches up and forces her hands between their bodies as she undoes Sylvain’s coat. 

He pauses to shed it, dropping it unceremoniously to the ground. Ingrid works at his vest and Sylvain leans down, sealing their lips together as he backs her up towards the wall. Ingrid almost bumps into a dresser as she backs up and Sylvain mutters an apology as he keeps kissing her. Ingrid ignores him and works open the buttons on his vest and immediately jerks on his necktie, loosening it until she can pull it free. 

Sylvain growls into her lips as she tosses it aside. He drops his hands to her sides, fisting in the material of her dress as she fumbles with the buttons on his shirt as Sylvain deepens the kiss, biting at her lips. She sighs into the motion as her hands hesitate, flattening against his chest as she tilts her head up to him, humming. 

Sylvain pulls back after a second, breathing raggedly, and he tugs on her hips, urging her to turn. Ingrid’s eyes widen and she turns, bracing her hands against the wall. He crowds against her, caressing the back of her neck and shoulders with a hand. Ingrid gasps as his fingers trail down, thumbing at the buttons on her dress again. 

This time he commits, undoing the first two buttons. He shifts behind her and Ingrid feels his lips press to the nape of her neck. She shivers as his kisses trail downward slowly, warm and surprisingly chaste as he kisses the column of her spine as his warm hands slowly unlace her dress. The fabric loosens around her until it starts to slip off. Ingrid drops her hands from the wall to catch it over her chest instinctively, but Sylvain lets out a rumbling growl as he reaches around, gently tugging the fabric down. 

Ingrid risks a glance back over her shoulder and her legs clench at the sight of Sylvain hunching towards her as he slowly coaxes her dress down. She lets it drop, caught staring at him, as he kisses her back between her shoulder blades and drags his teeth lightly across her skin. A light whine catches halfway out of her throat and Sylvain hums. 

The dress pools at her feet and Sylvain pushes her by the hips until she steps even closer to the wall, stepping out of the dress. His hands scorch through the thin fabric of her chemise and she shivers when he leans closer, his breath wafting over her ear. 

“Stay,” he murmurs, his voice rumbling.

She tenses as his warmth recedes and she hears the bustling of fabric as he picks up her dress, moving it out of the way. He’s back after a second, sliding his arms around her to rest his hands on her stomach. He kisses her cheek and hums as his hands play across her stomach, tracing in the cracks of the corset. His amusement seems to quickly be disappearing in favour of annoyance at the fact that she’s still wearing clothes. 

He slides a hand down towards the bottom of her corset and Ingrid tenses, realizing that the laces to undo it are on the back, nowhere near where his hands are straying.

“Sylvain,” she starts, but she doesn’t get any further than that before there’s a sharp _ripping_ noise as Sylvain splits her corset from the bottom, ripping up and out. 

Ingrid gasps as he jerks it off of her and then immediately tosses it to the side. His hands bunch up her chemise and he yanks it up and over her head. Ingrid shivers as the air hits her bare skin, but Sylvain’s hands are burning hot as he spins her back to face him and pushes her back flat against the wall as he drops to his knees. 

Ingrid gasps instinctively as he leans forward, reaching for her left leg. He tugs on it until she transfers her weight and lets him lift her leg enough to remove her shoe and toss it aside. He does the same with her other shoe. Sylvain doesn’t hesitate then, pushing her hips back against the wall as he leans forward, kissing the inside of her thigh. 

Ingrid gasps as he drags his teeth across her inner thigh and she basically trembles against him as he shifts upwards. She covers her mouth with one hand and the other fists into Sylvain’s hair as she pulls, trying to draw his head upward. He just growls and nips at her skin, continuing at his slow, teasing pace. 

“Sylvain,” she says, already feeling breathless. 

He pauses, leaning back enough for her to see the dark look in his eyes. “I believe I promised that you would be _ravished_ tonight.” 

He shifts back, grabbing the fabric of her smallclothes and dragging them down and out of his way, leaving her completely bare before him. Sylvain leans forward, nosing between her legs and drawing a stripe along the very top of her thigh with his tongue. She holds her breath in response. 

Instead of his mouth, his hand dips between her legs, drawing a long, shallow line through her folds and Ingrid trembles. Sylvain hums again. 

“You’re so wet for me already, Ingrid.” He bites her thigh and she gasps into her palm. 

His finger rubs the line again and then he leans forward and kisses the very edge of her clit. She whines at the feeling of his warm breath ghosting over her. His tongue comes next, drawing a lazy circle over her clit that almost makes her scream. Ingrid’s hand tightens in his hair as she trembles. 

He sticks to slow, lazy swipes of his tongue until she’s gasping and twisting and her legs are starting to tremble. She tugs on his hair and he pauses, pulling back and blowing a short puff of air on her. 

“Use your words, Ingrid,” he says, both teasing and serious. 

“Please, Sylvain,” she whines. 

“Please _what_?”

“Please touch me,” she begs, her knees shaking. 

Sylvain hums, seemingly satisfied as he leans in and fastens his lips over her clit. He sucks hard and Ingrid bites her knuckle to keep from screaming. Her head thuds against the wall as she writhes above him and Sylvain continues to suck and lick her clit, still teasing. 

“Sylvain,” she whimpers. 

“You want more, Ing?”

“ _Please,_ ” she pants. 

His nose brushes her clit as he leans in, swiping the flat of his tongue across her folds. Ingrid gasps and bucks her hips against him. He repeats the motion, but presses harder, humming into her. She bites her hand until it burns and then she drops it, grabbing at her own hair as she whines loudly. Sylvain chuckles and pushes his tongue into her slowly. 

“Fuck, Sylvain, _I_ -” she gasps, her hips bucking. 

Sylvain fucks his tongue into her quickly for a few strokes and her legs shake as she pulls on her own hair and his. He slows down when her knee almost buckles, shifting one hand to press her hips against the wall to steady her and push her back. The next motions of his tongue are slow, teasing probes that make her whimper again. 

He leans back then, his face shiny and his expression smug. “You’re such a mess, Ingrid. I should have done this to you on the balcony.”

The image of that shoots right to her core and she keens, wriggling against him. “N-no,” she whines. 

“No?” He leans back in and kisses lightly against her clit. “You think we should still be at the party?” His teeth scrape over the nub between her legs and she nearly collapses. 

Her skin is crawling with heat and heady desire. “Sylvain, _please_!”

“Hmm,” he murmurs. He sucks lightly at her clit again and there’s a sharp jolt as he slides one of his fingers into her slick heat with no resistance. 

Ingrid bucks against him, moaning at the sensation, clenching around him desperately. He slides his finger out and then back in, quickly setting a hard pace as he continues to circle her clit with his tongue. He sucks on her in time with one withdrawal and then twists two fingers into her on the next thrust. There’s a pleasant pressure that makes her almost double over as she moans louder. 

“Shh,” he urges, licking around her clit instead of over it as he buries his fingers into her again, curling them at the deepest point. 

“Sylvain,” she moans as he bites at her thigh and buries his hand into her again. 

“Come on love,” he teases, “are you going to let everyone hear you?”

He rolls her clit across his tongue in time with his next stroke and the bubbling heat in her stomach snaps and she slaps a hand across her mouth to muffle her wailing moan as she comes, clenching and trembling around his fingers. He slides his hand out slowly as she starts to come down, but he licks slowly over her folds until her fingers loosen in his hair and she doesn’t feel like she’s quite floating anymore. 

Sylvain leans back then, his face and hand shiny with her slick and Ingrid feels dizzy. She pulls on his shoulder until he rises back to his full height, grinning at her smugly. Ingrid’s hand shakes as she reaches out, grabbing for the front of his pants. Sylvain catches her before she can do anything else and then he tugs on her wrist, motioning for her to move to the bed. He kicks off his shoes and socks next to her discarded shoes on the way. Ingrid glances at the torn corset and feels heat curl in her stomach again. 

She follows as he leads across the room and she pushes him down onto his back and crawls on top of him. She sits back against his hips and finishes undoing his shirt. Sylvain leans up to kiss her and she dodges, fastening her lips to the side of his neck. Sylvain grunts and his hips jerk underneath her as she draws him up, shoving his shirt away and off the edge of the bed. 

She bites at Sylvain’s neck and he groans. His hands tighten on her hips and he guides her into a rolling motion over top of him, but Ingrid doesn’t let him win. She trails her kisses down along his neck until she reaches his shoulder where she finds a patch of skin and fastens her lips, sucking hard, giving him a mark to match the one he had left on her earlier. 

Sylvain gives a breathy laugh beneath her, but she just moves on, biting and licking along his collarbone as his laugh stutters into a low groan. She kisses down across the muscles of his chest, pausing every time she reaches a scar. She trails her tongue around the edge of some of his bigger scars and presses loose, open-mouthed kisses to the smaller ones. 

She works down him slowly, crawling back as she kisses below his belly button and drops her hands to the front of his pants. She’s not shaking this time as she unbuttons and unlaces his pants, dragging them off his hips. Sylvain kicks his pants away and Ingrid grabs the band of his smallclothes, pushing them down too. She kisses his hipbone and Sylvain jerks under her. His hand grabs her hair and pulls up, lifting her head away. 

Ingrid, sitting over his knees, frowns at him, but Sylvain just laughs. “With how long I’ve been waiting for this tonight, I don’t think I have two rounds in me, love.” She bites her lip to hide a smile. “Come here, Ing,” he urges. 

She crawls up him until she’s sitting over his hips. Sylvain slides a hand between her legs, rubbing over her still tingling clit a few times before withdrawing. She lifts her hips up, leaning forward a bit before she leans back as he guides the head of himself towards her. She sinks down slowly, her mouth falling open as he slowly rocks his hips up and down, working himself into her as she takes him in. 

His hand grips her hip tightly as she presses their pelvises flat against each other. She whimpers at the feeling and Sylvain breaths heavily below her, his hand flexing on her hip. He lets her adjust, waiting for her to take what she wants. Ingrid breathes out slowly as her body clenches and then relaxes. 

She rocks up shallowly and her eyes flutter closed as he drags against something inside of her. She’s still buzzing a bit from his work against the wall, so she takes it slow, rolling her hips in shallow circles above him. Sylvain groans under her and she laughs, planting a hand on his chest to help herself. He guides her into a higher lift as he rocks his hips up to meet her in a shallow thrust and Ingrid stutters her motions, making a pleased sound. 

Sylvain’s other hand cups over one of her breasts as he rolls her nipple under his thumb. Ingrid jerks at that, moving her hips into a faster roll. He keeps rocking up to meet her and she shifts her knees underneath herself, pushing up and then down as she starts to ride him harder. Sylvain swears and he drops his hand off her chest, using it to bounce her hips as he adjusts, pushing his feet on the mattress as he thrusts up to meet her. 

“Fuck, Sylvain,” she pants as he thrusts harder up into her. “Like that.”

“Yeah?” he says. 

Ingrid nods, her hand slipping up over his chest as she rides him until she places a shaking hand against his lips. Sylvain’s lips part and he licks at her thumb. Ingrid gasps, rocking down hard and pushing her thumb into his mouth. He sucks at it and drops one hand off her hip to her clit. He rubs at her and thrusts up and Ingrid keens, throwing her head back with a long moan as something in her stomach buzzes pleasantly. 

She comes with a gasp on his next thrust, slumping forward against him. Sylvain growls and surges up, rolling her onto her back. He slams his hips down into her, fucking her through her orgasm and she arches her back, whining as her nails scratch into his skin as she grabs at his back. It doesn’t take him long in this position to jerk out of her suddenly as warmth spatters onto her stomach as he moans lowly. 

He works his hand on himself for a few more strokes until he’s just leaning over her, chest heaving. He takes a shaky breath and drops a kiss to the front of her shoulder as he rolls off of her. He’s back a moment later with a damp cloth as he wipes down her stomach and then mops between her legs carefully. 

Ingrid is too exhausted to do much else besides close her eyes and smile faintly at him as she feels him cleaning up. He disappears again for a moment before he returns, curling an arm under her knees as he lifts her just enough to pull the blankets down and slide her into his bed. She turns into him, wrapping her arms around him tiredly as she presses her face to his chest. 

Sylvain kisses the top of her head as he tucks the blankets around them. “I love you,” he murmurs. 

“Mmm,” she hums, agreeing. Sylvain’s breathing slows a bit and just before she thinks he might be dozing off, she pipes up, “You know, Sylvain, the laces are on the back of that corset.”

He scoffs. “It was in the way.” 


End file.
